


praying for a sinner

by tezza



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: And Kerry Is The Puppy, Angst, Average-Ass, But I Wrote This So It's More Like, But With All The Badass Killing, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluffyfest, I Say Badass, In The Name Of Protecting The Man He Loves, In Which V Is Basically John Wick, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sappy, Tumblr Prompt, minus the death, we love to see it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-23 20:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30061101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tezza/pseuds/tezza
Summary: How stupid do you need to be to hurt the output of Night City's most dangerous mercenary?
Relationships: Kerry Eurodyne/Male V, Kerry Eurodyne/V
Comments: 16
Kudos: 113





	praying for a sinner

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated & all thanks to mynerdylordship on tumblr who sent me this prompt: "May I prompt thee with the trope you just reblogged? Kerry getting hurt / kidnapped because of some psychofan (someone like Spector mentioned.. or like slayton whose apartment was basically a Kerry shrine), and V going nuts. (If you want to ☺️ no pressure)"

_═══════_

_he isn't exactly the boogeyman._

_he's the one you send to kill the fucking boogeyman._

═══════

An unknown caller flashes up on his HUD.

He lets it ring out, keeps his eyes glued to the three gang-goons he's been watching for the last five minutes instead. So far it's been a whole lot of talking and not enough action, he's practically falling asleep, but any minute now.

Job's an easy one. Has his target pinned already—Jacob Cutler, one of Night City's slimiest. V's heard whispers about him in the past, but he's never had the privilege of making his acquaintance. 'Til now, anyway, when he's getting paid to. But all he needs to do is acquire the shard he's packing, get it to Regina, that's it. Winner's choice if he zeroes him or not, but from what he's been told, the world would be better without him in it.

So he's waiting, playing a longer game than he usually would. Patient until he flashes the merchandise so he knows he for sure has it on him, and then he'll pick him off the second his chooms have their backs turned.

Couple of minutes later, his phone rings again. Unknown caller, just like before.

He rolls his eyes and curses under his breath as he answers. Talk about bad timing. "For fuck's sake," He utters, keeping his voice hushed when he snaps, "What?"

"Oh, I—good afternoon sir," Some guy stumbles on the other end. "My name is Dr. Harold Chandler, I'm calling from Stuart Hospital. I'm looking for a Mr..." Pause. "Ah, there's... there's no surname, uh, okay, can I speak with a Mr... Vincent, please?"

"Yeah, speaking. But it's just V." He's too busy trying to concentrate, but he could've sworn he heard this guy call himself a doctor. "Who did you say you were again?"

"Dr. Harold Chandler. Chief of General at Stuart Hospital."

Huh, so he wasn't imagining it. He really did say doctor. Ain't no ripperdoc hidden in some shady back-alley, either. Stuart's the best of the best. Too rich for his blood.

Figures, the top of the food chain crawling down to the gutter-trash when they need something. He ought to hang up here and now, send him packing. But money's money, and his reputation is nothing if not reliable. "What can I do you for, Dr. Chandler? But talk fast, if you can. Kinda in the middle of somethin'."

"Right, yes, well, it—it's nothing to worry too much about, but we have Mr. Eurodyne here with us, and—"

An aggressive panic seizes his stomach instantly. "Wait, what? Kerry?" His attempts to be quiet long forgotten, he nearly straightens up. Thinks maybe it's a mistake. Maybe it's more of a common name than he realizes. "You talkin' about Kerry Eurodyne?"

Another pause. "Yes, that—that's right. We have you down as Mr. Eurodyne's primary contact, who to call in the case of any emergencies."

"You do?" He fails to hide his confusion, but that's news to him. He can't remember them ever discussing it, wracks his brain but nothing comes to mind. Never thought until now they would need to either, honestly. Between the two of them, V's most likely the one who needs the emergency contacts on speed-dial and the top-notch hospitals, not Kerry.

"My apologies, sir, is that not the case?"

The question sobers him. "No, no, sorry, it is, I am, it's just—has somethin' happened to him? Is he okay?" Caution to the wind, V exits cover and makes his way back over to the barrier he slipped in under when he first arrived, doesn't care much if he's spotted.

"Relatively speaking, he's fine. He's currently resting in one of our private suites, stable, but—"

" _Stable_?" V echoes, voice incredulous as he climbs onto the Arch. "What the fuck do you mean _stable?_ "

"From our understanding, it looks like Mr. Eurodyne was involved in a violent altercation, h—"

"I'm on my way."

Hanging up without letting the good doc say a word more, by the sounds of it he didn't have much else to tell him, V's immediately tearing out of the shipment yard. The tyres scream viciously underneath him, his exhaust leaving nothing but dirt and fumes in his wake.

He makes another call as he weaves between traffic.

"Regina, it's V. Look," He gets straight to the point. "Not gonna be able to finish that job for ya. Something's come up and I gotta deal with it."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"'Fraid not. I can put you in touch with a couple of other mercs I know that're half-decent, but—"

"I don't need half-decent here, V, I need the best. And up until now, I thought that was you."

"And it is, no doubt. But there's nothin' I can do here, Regina. Sorry."

Silence follows, before the fixer sighs. "Fine, I guess it'll have to do. But cancelling gigs isn't like you, V. So whatever it is that's come up, I sure as hell hope it's more important than the eddies you're turning down."

"It is," He says it without hesitation, swerving round a corner. "I'll send you the detes for the other mercs now. Either of them should be able to get it done for you, no problem. Gotta go."

That sorted, he puts the phone down and focuses on getting to the medical center in one piece.

═══════

He's no regular at Stuart Hospital, so it takes him a while to navigate his way through it. Security every where you turn, a locker for weapons upon entry. He asks one woman where to go who sends him to one wing—rehabilitation—then ends up being told by another that he needs to be on the top floor, opposite side. He's just about unveil the ace up his trouser leg in the form of a holstered Glock when he spots a burly-looking guy—definitely security—outside of a room that looks fit for VIPs.

He heads towards him, as polite of a smile as he can muster plastered on his face, but the man immediately presses a firm hand to his chest to push him back a step, stopping him from getting anywhere. "Sorry, no general visitors allowed on this wing. I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."

"I'm not a general visitor," V explains, irked by his disregard. "I'm here to see somebody brought in earlier today. Name's Kerry Eurodyne, sure you've heard of him."

"Credentials?"

"I—credentials? You need proof that I know him? Are you kiddin' me?"

"Can't let you through without proof of clearance, sir."

"Proof of—" He stops, grits his teeth. Losing it won't help. "Nobody told me I'd need clearance."

"No clearance, no entry. Hospital policy."

"Right, then I'm down as his emergency contact, sure that's clearance enough. Go check that. Name's V. Vincent. Whatever. It's all in there."

"No can do. Access to a patient's medical file is strictly prohibited unless cleared by hospital personnel."

"Seriously? I tell you where to find your fuckin' precious proof and you won't even try look into it?" He challenges, feels himself getting riled up. "Look, just go ask a nurse or something, I don't give a shit, but I'm goin' in there, so you know where to find me if there's a problem—"

Hand to his chest again, this time the shove is rougher. "Sir, I'm going to need you to calm down or exit the premises."

"Get your fuckin' hand off me." V smacks it away harshly, "And don't tell me to calm down, I'm—"

"Is everything alright here?"

To their left, standing just behind V—out of line of fire, a man donning a white lab coat interrupts them. He's holding onto a clipboard, has a biro tucked behind his ear, and looks about as timid as a mouse. Small and slender, pointed nose and soft chin. Glasses sitting low on the bridge as he peers over the frame at the two of them, certain alarm beginning to pool in his Kiroshis.

"No, it's not." V answers, before Lurch over there has the chance to. "I got a call to tell me that someone I know's been brought in here but I can't go back there to see him without clearance, and who the fuck needs clearance in a hospital, anyway?"

"Sir, as I'm sure you can understand, we do have strict protocol here to protect the confidentiality of our higher-profile patients. However, I'm sure we can get this all cleared up, if you would like to come with me," He fumbles in his coat pocket for a lanyard, shows his ID card to the guard who then steps aside with reluctance to let them both pass, walking through the double doors. "Who is it you're here to see, exactly?"

"Kerry Eurodyne."

"Ah, then you must be V," The man realizes, giving him a cordial smile as he holds out a hand. "I'm Dr. Chandler, we spoke on the phone?"

"Right. Hey. Sorry about that back there, it's just—"

"I know, emotions tend to run high when those we care about are at stake. I was awaiting your arrival. I would've been there to greet you, however I had to tend to another patient unexpectedly, but I did notify our teams to expect you."

V scoffs. "Disobedient staff part of those premium care packages you offer?"

"Please, accept my sincerest apologies for the misunderstanding. Mr. Eurodyne's room is just down here, at the end of the hall."

Fear that was momentarily at bay claws back up his throat. "Is he okay? What happened, exactly?"

"The circumstances behind Mr. Eurodyne's injuries are at the moment unclear. He was brought in with evidence of multiple blows to the chest and rib area, resulting in a fracture of two of his ribs, as well as superficial injuries to his face that some of which required stitches."

"Who brought him in?"

"A..." The doctor looks down at his clipboard. "Michelle Hardinger?"

"His manager," V mumbles. Means he wasn't alone, at least. "What do you mean the circumstances are unclear?"

"He was rather out of it when he first arrived, understandably, and we've had to give him something since for the pain. But we're confident when he comes around fully, we'll be able to take the appropriate action."

"Meanin' you'll call in the boys in blue."

"If necessary."

 _It won't be_ , V thinks, but he doesn't say anything out loud.

It probably wouldn't be the best idea to out himself as one very pissed-off merc right now with an itching trigger finger. Not everybody looks at his profession as favorably as Kerry does.

When Dr. Chandler stops in front of one suite in particular, V asks, "Can I see him?"

"Of course. However, I should tell you that he is still resting right now. We expect the medication will wear off soon, and when he first rouses, he may be disoriented, but that's completely normal, should clear up in around ten minutes. But please, you're more than welcome to sit with him in the meantime."

"Thanks, doc."

"No problem. Also, should you need it, there is a black button on the wall behind his bed that you can press in case of any emergencies. Once the alarm is triggered, one of my team will be by in less than a minute to assist. But I'll be by in a little while to check on him, if not."

V nods, and while the doctor leaves him to it, he braces himself before he enters the room.

This hasn't happened to him before, not that he can remember. He's not sure how he's supposed to handle it, or all of the emotions whirling around inside of him. Sure, he's seen people he cares about get hurt—killed, even. Seen his fair share of broken bones and bloodied lips, was even the norm for a while. Still is, really. But it just feels different. Those things, they happened with him there, right in front of him. The threat always unavoidable.

But never something like _this_ , never with someone he cares for the way he cares about Kerry.

His hands are shaking before he even opens the door, only he's not really sure whether that's out of fear for his output, or anger for what's happened to him. Both, maybe. Probably. Knows as soon as he sees him that he's going to turn murderous, either way, remembering what the doctor said about his condition. It's inevitable. Superficial injuries to the face, blows to his chest, his stomach. Imagining somebody's hands on him like that, hands on him at all. Hurting him. His blood's scorching already just thinking about it.

He twists the handle to let himself into the suite, and his heart stops the moment he claps eyes on him lying there, he would swear it.

 _Fuck_.

With a deep breath, he pushes himself to silently approach the bed, being careful not to disturb him.

He's asleep, just like the doctor said. Looks peaceful enough, underneath the flowers of purple and blue staining skin that glowed warm just a few hours ago. It colors around his right eye, inflames the torn skin of his lower lip, outlines the deep slice on the left side of his forehead that's covered with two stitches. And from where his implant passes his clavicle, V notes the raw bruising surrounding chrome, peeking out just above the gown they have him dressed in.

There's a chair tucked in the corner of the room that V drags over to sit down in, and selfishly, he allows himself a moment. Just a moment, now the panic's subsiding, to gingerly take Kerry's hand in his own and bask in its warmth, thumbing fragile circles into his skin over and over again, ready and waiting for him to wake up.

═══════

Maybe an hour goes by before Kerry starts to stir.

V hears the hitch in his tiny snores first, before he half-snorts, and the hand he's holding onto like it's his own personal lifeline starts twitching. He doesn't let go of it as he sits forward in his chair, while Kerry's eyes begin to flutter, dusty lashes fanning his cheeks as he slowly starts to open them. Lazily at first, still plagued with sleep and the remnants of the drugs in his system, but eventually he blinks his way through his haze, until he's looking at him with clarity.

"Hey," V daren't do more than whisper as he slowly stands, leans over him. "How you feelin'?"

Kerry's lips part for a moment before he presses them together again, and V sees him wincing as he swallows, so he guesses that's his answer.

"You need me to get you anything? Some water, or—you in pain? 'Cause it's a pretty fancy place they got here, you know. Top security, service with a smile. Worth every eddie. Said I can push a button and have a doctor here in less than a minute, 'pparently."

"No, no, 'm fine," He croaks, eyebrows pinched as he searches V's face for a long moment. "You look like shit."

A helpless laugh escapes the merc. "Says the guy in the hospital bed," He retorts. "S'pose you should probably get used to bein' in these gowns, though. Y'know, at your age."

"Fuck you," Kerry rasps, cracking half a smile that looks like it's burning up all of his energy.

Feels like something's released its grip around V's lungs to see it, though.

Releasing his hand in favour of resting his palm against the man's cheek, carefully, V feels a well of emotion bubbling up in his throat, as relief settles heavy on his chest. "Just glad you're okay," He admits, his voice falling back into that whisper, strained vulnerable. "The fuck happened?"

"A heated discussion. But if you think this is bad, you should—" Another swallow, a grimace. "—see the other guys."

He's trying to lighten the mood but right now V's struggling to even maintain composure. His smile's stale as he breathes out through his nose. "Ker, I'm serious," He implores gently. "Who did this to you?"

"Ah, fuck if I know. Bunch'a cyborg assholes."

"Maelstrom?"

He shrugs.

"Well what did they look like?" He pushes then, doesn't mean to but he can feel his insides twisting, a heat beginning to rise. Maelstrom don't venture this far out, not usually, so it must've been for a reason if they had. And if he finds out that there was a job behind this, gets even an inkling of one, he'll mow his way through as many people as he has to until he finds out who was responsible for setting it up. "Was Michelle with you? She get a good look at 'em, too?"

"Maybe. But you can save yourself the warpath, kid. Was just wrong place, wrong time, that's all."

"The fuck it was," V mutters darkly, drags his thumb across the golden indents along Kerry's cheek. He plans on leaving nothing but scrap and parts after he's through with whoever did this to him. Wants to wipe them from the world without letting them leave so much as a fucking footprint, like they never existed at all. Gone and forgotten and erased, just like all the other insects he's crushed before. "They say anythin' to you?"

"Called me a fuckin' popstar," Kerry complains, straight off the bat. Scoffs, "Can you believe that? Me, a popstar. You do one track with a girl group and suddenly—"

"I meant did they threaten you, Kerry." V interjects, but he can't help but smile at him. Only Kerry could have the hell beat out of him and still find room to be offended by a throwaway insult. "Say anythin' that'd give you any idea who they might've been, or why they did it."

"Oh, then no. Not really. Said somethin' about taking my car, so I told 'em they could have it over my dead body."

V huffs what comes out as a laugh, but feels almost reminiscent of a sob. "Course you did," He mumbles, and drops his chin, touching his forehead to Kerry's crown.

His nose buried deep in his hair, he breathes him in. Hides the scent of disinfectant and antiseptic behind faint hairspray and coconut shampoo. Allows himself to forget where they are, giving himself another moment. Just one more. He was so fucking scared.

This city has habit of devouring the people he loves. It swallows them whole without warning or clemency. He doesn't know what he would've done if it had happened again.

Overwhelmed with the feeling, something that goes way beyond him or them, or whatever it is that they share, that this is, V's hand slides under Kerry's jaw and he gently lifts his head up until their lips can meet, being careful to avoid the injury on his lip. But Kerry's concerns don't stretch that far. In seconds, V can feel his strong hands on him, fingers scraping through his hair, nails harsh against his skin in an attempt to draw him in closer, spur him on more, and fuck, if it doesn't work like a charm.

V kisses him harder, tastes him like it's the first time he has and the last time he will simultaneously.

Neither of them lets the other go far when they break apart. Just enough so their foreheads are touching, their warm breaths still intermingling when the rocker laughs. "Fuck," He pauses, breathes. "Think I ought to get beaten up more often."

"Yeah, I'd rather you didn't." He never wants a phone call like the one he received today, ever again.

There isn't a whole lot V would say he falls weak to. Can't afford it, not in his line of work. It was a fact he used to pride himself on it, once upon a time. That there wasn't much that could be used against him, that he didn't care enough about anything for it to hurt. Until now.

Now he has something he just can't lose, won't lose. Not for anybody.

═══════

That night once they're back at the villa, V ends up breaking doctor's orders.

He doesn't plan to. Plans on doing nothing but sitting in front of the TV, maybe ordering something in, watching some crappy show or old movie until Kerry inevitably passes out, figures he must be exhausted after the day he's had, but he isn't. Of course he isn't.

Instead he's purposeful, calculating. In every look they exchange, every touch, merciless in his attempts to get what he wants as soon as V guides him upstairs. His hands on V's belt and his lips on V's neck, he's masterful in his efforts, and V soon accepts that he can't deny him anything. Never has been able to, even from the beginning.

But despite his output's growing impatience, the silent demands that become grumbles of frustration, lost in eventual gasps whenever V does decide to grant him mercy and let up, he takes his time.

He ignores every soft groan and half-verbal plea, explores him in ways he doesn't think he'll ever tire of. Kisses every bruise like he's making a promise, savors the way Kerry comes undone beneath him. How his cheeks flush and eyes roll back, repeats his name in broken whispers like he's become his mantra, over and over again. _Vince, Vince, Vince_.

And later, in hours closer to morning than midnight, V holds Kerry in his arms while he sleeps. Keeps him close as he watches the rise and fall of his chest, counts every second between, and commits every inflicted shadow that paints his skin to memory. 

He'll kill them, he thinks.

Every last one.

═══════

He doesn't find out until later that some of Kerry's things were taken.

The day after they get home is a write-off. His things are left in the bag the hospital packed them in and they spend the majority of it in bed, except for when V's offering to grab Kerry his favourite takeout so he actually eats something, and retrieving the painkillers he tried so hard to hide downstairs, forcing him to take them. But other than that, they spend it forgetting the rest of the world exists.

It's only when Kerry's finally up and about two days later, dressed for a meeting with his label and recovering bad as new, that V notices something's different.

The clothes are the same, all leather and studs and extravagance. Signature Eurodyne. The thick gold chains are back around his neck, the spiked leather bracelet is fixed around his wrist, the cheap rings he bought during his Samurai days and still wears for sentimentality are on one hand, but the others—the handcrafted rings, the chunky gold one that's engraved with an image of Saint Cecilia and the other that's fitted with the authentic almandine garnet, they're both gone. Along with the matching chain bracelet, too.

It doesn't take a genius to work out what happened to them but still, V thwarts Kerry's attempts to grab the coffee he's just poured him and takes his hand instead, laces their fingers together as he looks to inspect them. "Happened to your rings?"

Kerry's eyes follow his, and he shrugs. "Must'a just forgot to put 'em on."

"Mhm." He brings the bare hand to his lips and tattoos kisses into his knuckles. "Want me to go grab them?"

"Nah, s'no big deal, I'll get 'em later. Probably should go anyway before Michelle has my balls. I'm already three days behind on submitting those last two tracks, think she might pop an artery when she finds out I haven't even finished 'em."

"You have been a little preoccupied, Ker."

Kerry smirks, "In more ways than one, too." and then he's leaning in to capture V's mouth with his own, stealing a kiss that soon turns into him stealing another, and another, until it's obvious he's already forgotten that he's expected elsewhere and V's having to be the responsible one, pulling away before it can escalate, because it always escalates.

"Go," He insists, his hand against Kerry's chest to prevent further temptation. "Before Michelle has _my_ balls."

"Right," Though clearly reluctant, judging from the way his pupils have already dilated, Kerry steps back. "M'I seein' you later?"

"Got a few things to deal with at the Afterlife but yeah, shouldn't take me too long. I'll grab us somethin' to eat on my way back."

"Preem. Oh, but don't forget the—"

"—olives, I know, I know, told me a hundred times already, just _go_. Go be brilliant, wax poetic, set the world on fire. I'll see you tonight." He refrains from well-wishes and dissolves the concerned _be careful_ on his tongue, doesn't want to let on that he's still thinking about it. That he hasn't stopped thinking about it, even as Kerry's bruises shade greener and his ribs hurt less.

As far as the musician is concerned, what happened is already in the past. It's not worth dwelling on. V wants to keep it that way.

Kerry takes advantage of their proximity to reach around and slap him on the ass before he winks at him, flashing him an impish grin as he grabs his phone from the counter and wedges it into his jacket pocket before he does as he's told, and leaves the villa. V holds off until the sound of the Rayfield's engine becomes nothing more than a purr before he makes his next call, confident the coast is clear. 

"Hey, it's V." He jumps in, soon as they pick up. "Got a personal problem I need solvin' and I was wonderin' if you could stick that trusty ear o' yours to the ground for me one last time, for old time's sake."

═══════

V was right. It was Maelstrom.

Nobody he recognizes, nobody he's heard of—two guys mostly, surrounded by faceless cronies egging them on. One who calls himself _Sickle_ , the other simply Markus, they're the ones he's looking for.

And now thanks to Rogue, he knows exactly where to find them, too.

Apparently poor Michelle had her work cut out for her after Kerry was hurt. While he laid in a hospital bed, she was busy doing her best to make sure every piece of footage recorded or photograph snapped was erased from existence. The aftermath drew quite the crowd, it seems.

To her credit, though, she did an okay job. An ordinary search pulled nothing up—V knows because he tried—meaning that as far as the general public would be concerned, what happened to Kerry never actually happened, nobody was any the wiser.

But luckily for V, Rogue isn't the general public, so it doesn't take her long to find the information he's after, and he's in and out of her place in less than thirty minutes, leaving with the promise that he isn't in trouble but that he'll call if he ends up in some. Then, he heads to his old apartment that sits collecting dust these days to look for iron perfect enough for the occasion, and by the time he's rolling into Northside an hour later, pulling up outside of an underground dungeon club called The Pit, the sun's already starting to set.

It's emptier inside than he expects it to be. Walks in through the front door with no problem, security doesn't bat an eye, and he isn't having to push his way through second-hand chrome and botched implant jobs to get his bearings, either. People are scattered, high on their own clouds, floating through the air but still somehow on two feet, and he manages to scan just about everybody in less than five minutes.

Not a single person he sees are either of the guys he wants.

He heads to the bar after that, orders himself a tequila old fashioned. "Wonderin' if you can help me out," He says to the barman once the glass is placed in front of him, leans over a little to shout above the thrash music. "Lookin' for two guys, was told they needed me for a job and to meet them here. Names are Sickle and Markus. Heard of 'em?"

The barman's eyes—or at least, what V assumes are his eyes, two orbs of red light flickering—leave his for a moment while he thinks about it, seems to be looking around the room for somebody before he comes back to him, "Yeah, I've heard of 'em. Don't often hire outside help for their jobs, though."

"Must be my lucky day, then. Know where they are?"

He hums. "Nope. Sorry."

V sighs, holds his hands up in faux-surrender. "Okay, fine. You got me." He admits, smiles sheepishly. "Not here to work for 'em. Here to zero 'em, actually."

Soon as he says it, the guy's reaching under the bar, but he's instantly quicker. Saw it coming a mile away.

He slips a knife out of his sleeve and puts it straight through the 'ganic hand he has still laying on the surface of the counter. The club's noise disguises his howl.

"Ah, ah, ah, not so fast. Wouldn't be so stupid if I were you." He chastises, clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Think about this for a second, okay, look how fast I just got the spec on you. You didn't stand a chance. Still think you can stand in my way? 'Cause I gotta admit, if I were you, question I'd be askin' myself is, is it worth it? Do I really look like the kinda guy who's got a problem adding you to the same list as the two gonks you're protectin'?"

He shakes his head.

"And you'd be right, I don't. Unless you tell me what I wanna know. So," He releases the knife, picks up the shot of booze instead. "Now that's settled, can either put eddies in your pocket for the info or a bullet 'tween the eyes for the loyalty. Dealer's choice."

Apparently he must be losing his touch because the barman doesn't give him any answers, he just focuses more on trying to remove the knife from his hand. Attempts to pull it out slowly at first, but realizes it'll hurt like a bitch that way, so he puffs out a few breaths to psyche himself up for yanking it clean out instead.

Losing his patience, V grabs the handle before he can and twists roughly. "Tell me where they are, or I'll pull it out just so I can stick it in your fuckin' neck." He threatens lowly, tightens his grip around the smooth wood. "You got five seconds. Four, three, two—"

"Downstairs!" The guy yells, his voice tearing and his shaking free hand hovering over V's. "They're—they're downstairs, Jesus, b-but you didn't hear it from me, okay, I-I don't want any trouble. I just—I just work here!"

He eases up. Finally. "See? Wasn't so hard, was it?" He asks, before he helps the guy out by ripping the blade from between his metacarpals.

Then, he pulls out Archangel from his back pocket and plants one right between the guy's mechanical eyes.

The crack of the shot rips through the air around him, sounds out louder than the music that's playing, and he has roughly around thirty seconds before the fun starts.

He had to bring them out to play somehow.

Behind the bar is his best bet as far as cover goes, so he hauls himself over and crouches down beside his fallen comrade, also known as collateral damage, and all hell's breaking loose in no time. But he decides to wait until more start pouring in through the fire exit at the far end to study them properly, and eventually starts scanning them in between narrowly avoiding having his brains blown out so he can find his needle in the haystack.

"Flank the asshole out!" He hears from somewhere in the room, seconds later it's followed by the certain beeping of a smoke grenade that lands just adjacent to him, and he has a split second to dive away from it before it does the trick.

Maybe he didn't think this all the way through.

He quickly takes whatever ammo the barman has on him, as well as the shotgun hidden underneath the bar, and edges his way out from behind it. Manages to take down two guys before he darts behind a table tucked in the corner, barges it over with a shoulder so it'll provide substantial protection.

When he peeks out, he scans the guy closest to the heavy-duty door, analytics telling him seconds later that that's one of his guys. Markus Bedford. Goon. Threat level minimum with no outstanding warrants on his name with the NCPD. Small-fry, as far as adversaries go. Compared to the likes of Royce, anyway. Hell, even Dum-Dum had more about him than this guy, and that's definitely saying something.

One by one, V does what he does best. Takes them down with little to no trouble, shot after shot. Has to rely on his cyberware when he inevitably runs out of bullets, but manages well enough. Doesn't die at least, so he'll take it as a small victory. Vik's finest saving his ass as per usual. But he works on thinning the room out until he's left with only three that he can count, Markus hiding behind the two he doesn't seem to realize V gladly considers expendable.

To prove the point, he short-circuits the one to his left just for fun, before he exits cover. The guy to the right of Markus points his gun at him, straight at him, but he doesn't shoot. Instead, his eyes seem to stretch wider, his mouth agape. "Oh shit,"

"Oh—what the fuck are you _doing?!_ " Markus roars, splits between V and his friend incredulously. "Fuckin' shoot him!"

"Are you fucking insane?!" The goon hisses back. V scans him—Robbie 'Manic' Carlisle. "Do you have any idea who that even is?"

"What?"

"Think your choom's referrin' to me being the guy that flatlined your boss." V inputs, wants to remind them both that he's still here, and time's ticking. He still has olives to buy. "But you gotta admit, Royce was a real dickhead. Think I probably did you guys a favour, honestly."

Markus's expression begins to mirror Robbie's. "Wait, you—you're—"

"V, yeah. S'good to meet ya. Now, 'less you wanna end up like your pals here," He gestures to the very dead bodies around him. "I suggest you put those pieces you're holdin' away, and call your buddy Sickle, get him out of his little hidey-hole. Tell him a friend of Kerry Eurodyne's wants to talk."

"K-Kerry—who?"

"Doesn't matter who, just make the fuckin' call. Or I'm gonna paint these walls with whatever it is Robbie here's got left in that head o' his."

"Just fucking do it, dumbass. Stop pissing him off." Robbie orders. At least one of them is taking him seriously. He turns back to V, holds out the hand he's holding the pistol in and slowly begins lowering himself down to the floor so he can drop it. "Look, man, we—we don't want any trouble, alright? So—so whatever it is, we can work something out. Make a deal. Just scored big a couple days ago, probably have something you'd be interested in."

V's interest piques. "Really? Scored what?"

"Some fuckin' preem gear. Came from some rich princesses who won't be missing it. You—you wanna see?"

"Sure." He tucks the revolver back into the band of his pants and disarms himself of the empty shotgun, approaches the guy who still cowers slightly even though he made the suggestion.

Robbie wastes no time in holding out his wrist once V's close enough. "Check this out," He's almost _prideful_ , showing it to him. And it's there, it's really right there. Tied around his wrist, reflecting under the dimmed lights in the club in the way only real gold does. "S'real too." He tells him, none the wiser. "Bet'cha can't guess how much shit like this runs for?"

"Think I can, as it goes. Where'd you get it?"

"Like I said, some fuckin' rich princess. Probably can afford to buy himself a dozen o' these without making a dent."

His jaw clenches. "Right, right." He points to the man's wrist. "Mind if I take a closer look?"

"Nah, man. Go for—" 

He doesn't get to finish his sentence, and the thump his lifeless body makes when it hits the floor grabs Markus's attention. 

He turns back around to see what's going on, his eyes instantly bulging, what's left of his human face turning drip white. "Holy fucking shit, wh—what the fuck?!"

V crouches down beside his dead friend and lifts his wrist, so he can retrieve the bracelet. Doesn't answer him, either. Just questions, "The two rings, where are they?"

"You fucking killed him! You—" His hand goes for the weapon he holstered.

"Point that gun at me one more time and you'll be dead 'fore your finger can touch the trigger." V cautions, standing up straight again. "Now I'm gonna ask you again. The two rings, the ones you took from the guy who owns this bracelet, where are they?"

"I—I don't—I don't know—"

"No, okay, no, see, that's—" He laughs, it _hurts._ "That's the wrong answer, Markus, 'cause you _do_ know. You have to. You took 'em. Problem is, clearly you had no idea _who_ you were takin' 'em from, or what kind o' people he associates with. Either that, or you just really have a fuckin' death-wish, in which case I'd be happy to oblige."

He swallows, hands flying up in front of him. "Wait, wait, wait, look—look man, we—it wasn't my idea, alright, it was all Sickle. He planned the hit. Said there was this—this guy, this celeb, always had—had his meetings in the Plaza, and I didn't wanna hurt him, y'know, I swear, but Sickle, he—"

"One more time." V ignores his babbling. It's not going to change anything. "The rings. Where are they?"

"I—Sickle still has 'em. He has everything."

"And he's on his way back?"

Markus nods.

V tucks the bracelet safely into his pocket as he nods, processing the information. "Good. Okay. So what I'm hearin' right now is, you're completely useless." He states, before he shrugs once. "Good to know."

Markus doesn't have time to react. He struggles, as soon as V's arm is around his neck and his other hand is positioned nicely behind his head, but it's all in vain. It won't make a difference. He's going to die, they both know he's going to die, and now V just wants to draw the process out for as long as he possibly can. He could just snap his neck and be done with it, make it clean and simple, but that's too easy. Too kind. He wants him to suffer, wants him to feel his own life slipping away from him with the knowledge that he can't do a fucking thing to stop it.

He increases the pressure around his throat, little by little. Feels a little out of breath himself with all the effort it's taking, but he doesn't let up. No matter how much Markus claws at his arms, scrambles to try grab the gun he holstered a few minutes ago. Even when the picture of that familiar samurai artwork pops up on his HUD, he still maintains his strength as he answers, his voice coming out as a tight grunt, "Hey,"

Kerry notices straightaway, his voice sounding unsure when he replies, "Hey." Then there's a brief pause. "Everythin' okay?"

"Yeah, just—just in the middle of somethin', that's all. Why, what's up? You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, 'm fine, just checkin' in. Makin' sure you're not dead in a ditch somewhere."

"How—ugh," V squeezes harder. "—how sweet. I'm flattered, Ker."

"Fuck off." Now he can hear the smile in his voice, can see it perfectly in his head. It replaces all of those other images he has of him, has had of him for two days. Of his skin, his body. Golden and beautiful and bruised and beaten. "I'm guessin' if you're out on a gig you're gonna be late, then."

"Uh," He has no idea what time it even is, can't really check it right now either. "Maybe. Not too late, though. Think I'm just—" Crack. Markus's arms fall limply to his sides, his body falling heavier in V's arms. "Think I'm just wrappin' up now, actually. Shouldn't be much longer."

"Kay, I'll leave you to it. But... just be careful, kid. Yeah?"

V smiles softly. "Do my best," He promises. "See you soon."

As he ends the call, the door to club opens.

A guy who clearly looked up to Royce a bit too much walks in. Mostly machine, barely human. Everywhere V looks, all he can see is chrome where flesh and bone used to be.

But he stops short in the doorway when he spots V, along with all of his dead friends that surround him. 

"Sickle, right?" V asks, before stepping over Markus. "Perfect, you're just in time."

═══════

An hour later, and V's stumbling up the driveway towards the villa. Catches glimpse of himself in the window of Johnny's Porsche as he passes it, stopping to see if he can rectify any of the mess before he goes inside.

Jesus, it's not a pretty sight.

A mixture of sweat and wet blood dirties his skin, ruins his clothes in alarming streaks, and maybe he should've cleaned up a little before he came home. But as soon as he finished dealing with Sickle, the very second his cold sack of parts hit the floor, all V wanted to do was just that. Come home.

He licks his thumb and tries to wipe some of the worst of it away, realizes he's just making it worse before he grumbles _fuck it_ , and heads to the front door.

Music's caressing the air when he walks into the villa. Nothing concrete, just plucks of strings and wordless emotion, resonates deep within its listener without any clear meaning, and he finds Kerry on the couch, axe in his lap, open notebook by his side.

V's asked him before why he doesn't just move his process with him into the modern world but it keeps it real, Kerry always says. Genuine. Anything else would feel sacrilegious.

Smile on his face already, Kerry opens his mouth to say something—must've heard the door shutting, but he soon stops when his eyes meet V's, nearly ends up throwing his guitar across the room when he jumps from the couch.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, V, what the hell's happened?" He frets, rushes over to him and immediately starts checking him over for injuries. Hands on his face, on his chest. Covering himself in blood without hesitation. "You okay? Shit, I thought you said you were gonna be careful!"

V takes him by the wrists, stopping him in his worries. "Relax, Ker. It's not mine."

"It's not?"

He shakes his head.

"Oh." His muscles loosen. "Well fuck you instead, then." He curses, lightly shoving against V, hitting his own hands against his chest. "Comin' in here, looking like that. You scared the shit out of me."

He gives him half a smile. "Sorry. Didn't have time to... I wanted..." He falters on the right words, releasing Kerry's hands so he can slip one of his own into his pocket. "Got somethin' for you."

Kerry frowns curiously. "Okay..." He says slowly. "Weird time to start handin' out gifts when you're covered in some rando crook's blood, kid, but I can go with it. What is it?"

It's true, he could probably do with going to wash up first, but he feels like he has to do it now. Something about it, he can't describe why, it just feels... important. And maybe it isn't. Maybe it's just the culmination of a weird few days catching up with him, but he can't shake it. The notion that something has changed—for him, at least. Has grown stronger, become more solid.

Time feels slower when V opens his hand to reveal the two rings and the bracelet, all tangled up together in his palm. And while he watches Kerry, trying desperately to gauge a reaction in those first few seconds that the realization dawns on him. What he's really been up to, where he's been. Whose life he has smeared all over him. He thinks he even holds his breath while he waits.

But when Kerry looks back up at him, there are hints of a smile that frees the restrictions around his throat playing on his lips. "Do I even wanna know?"

V's head bobs side to side, contemplating it. Kerry's always been a different breed. He's got a strong stomach, is miraculously open minded, and he can find the dark attraction in what V does for a living more often than not. But still, "Prob'ly not," V replies. He doesn't want to smudge the moment with their deaths and his sins. "S'pretty boring, honestly."

He barks out a laugh at that, nodding his head. "Can imagine."

"C'mere," V motions his free hand for Kerry to hold his out. "Let me."

It's oddly intimate, V putting the rings back where they belong, slotting them onto his fingers one at a time. Clasping the bracelet back around his wrist, straightening the chain out so that it isn't twisted and the gems are facing the right way up.

He likes it, though.

And when he's finished, he takes Kerry's face in his hands and he kisses him. Expects to be pushed away almost immediately considering the state he's in, but he isn't. Instead, he's kissed back. Earnestly, softly. He can feel the tips of Kerry's calloused fingers against his cheeks, but his touch delicate. Grateful. Loving.

He's the first to pull away. "Could'a gotten yourself killed, you know." 

"I know."

"Don't do it again."

"Scout's honor." 

"Good." He kisses him again, a simple peck on the lips before he lets him go. "Now go take a shower 'fore you get blood all over my furniture."

V doesn't let him get far, drags him in one last time for something a little longer, he can't resist. Something messy and heated, more their speed, but Kerry soon ducks back out of it with a laugh on his tongue that V swears makes his heart fucking _sing_.

He takes purposeful steps away from the merc, a dazzling grin on his face. "Go fuckin' shower, I'll fix you a drink. Think you could probably use one, or five—"

That sends him crashing back down to earth.

"Oh fuck."

"What?" Kerry stills, grin dissolving and eyes panicked as they roll over his face, even dip to the stains across his chest, probably wondering if V was being wholeheartedly honest when he said he wasn't injured. "What is it? What's wrong?"

But V just sighs.

"I forgot the olives."

**Author's Note:**

> oh wow, and there we have it. my first official cyberpunk fic. done, dusted, and posted for the world to see.
> 
> oof, terrifying.
> 
> but hey fun fact (that i hope can forgive the minor detail changes i made with Kerry's jewelry) - Saint Cecilia is a patron saint of music and musicians, and the almandine garnet is a regenerative healing crystal that's strongly believed to bring strength and stamina. and i just thought those two things really suited Kerry, so. creative liberties lol.
> 
> anyway, if by some miracle you got this far, i hope you enjoyed reading it. i honestly did not mean for it to be so long, but as most of you already know if you talk to me on tumblr or whatever (eurodyness, come say hello pls), i don't know how to shut the hell up, so... this is the result of my madness.


End file.
